


Shattered Souls

by ProfessionalAsshole



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Also I'm a slut for angst, But it'll be worth it I swear, But like not for a while, F/F, F/M, Female Tony, Seriously you thirsty bitches gonna have to wait, Slow Burn, Smut, Toni Stark - Freeform, civil war aftermath, just a warning, so there's gonna be a lot of it, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2019-12-06 23:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalAsshole/pseuds/ProfessionalAsshole
Summary: “He wasn't hurt. Not physically. His scars were roots that ran deep into the bowels of his soul, and the sight of Toni's ruined body had fractured it. Shattered it.”Or, the aftermath of Civil War, and a female Tony Stark.





	1. The Raft

  
_"I'm sorry, Toni. But he's my friend."_

_"So was I."_

The shield keeps coming down, harder and harder. It's denting the arc reactor. Damaging it. Even though Steve knows it'll kill her if it breaks.

_"You had one last golden egg to give."_

Steve rips off her helmet. _He wants to see my face_ , Toni thinks. _He wants to see my face when he kills me._

_"Take off the suit, and what are you?"_

_Nothing_ , she wants to say now. _I'm nothing. You were right, Steve. You're always right_.

Steve lifts his shield. He doesn't hesitate—he never does, the diligent soldier—before he brings it down with all his insurmountable strength. Right into Tony's chest.

The vibranium cuts through her armour like it's nothing but air, and something within Toni _breaks_.

Steve stops when she screams. _Finally_ , he stops. He's breathing hard. But Toni... She's barely even breathing at all. Everything is heavy—everything _hurts_. She coughs, and blood spurts from her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

Steve gets up. He turns. He doesn't... He doesn't even look back.

"Finish it," Toni wants to say. _Tries_ to say. But her mouth fills with blood every time she opens it. _Don't leave me here like this. Don't let me die alone._

It's her greatest and most terrible fear, and Toni doesn't know if Steve remembers that, or if he just doesn't care anymore.

Steve doesn't turn. Doesn't look back. He hoists Bucky up, and, together, they leave her. They leave Toni on the frigid ground, choking on her own blood. His figure morphs into Obie first, sauntering away from her almost lifeless body, her arc reactor dangling from his traitorous fingers, then her father, gripping her mother's hand as they get in that _damned_ car.

_Howard—_

And then he's gone.

_Steve leaves her_.

Toni's blood fills the cracks within her suit—from one or multiple wounds, she doesn't know. She's numb, and it has nothing to do with the frigid Siberian winds.

A hand, shaking and bloodied and bruised, travels to where the shield still sticks out of her chest. She pulls on it with what little strength she has left, and it hits the ground with an echoing thud that Toni can feel in her bones.

The arc reactor blinks up at her, damaged beyond repair by the man she thought she had loved. The man she thought had loved _her_. The notion almost makes her laugh, desensitized and hysterical. All that comes out is a broken wheeze.

She hopes maybe Steve will come back for her.

Maybe he'd warm her frost-bitten cheeks with the palms of his hands. Maybe he'd look at her, and she'd look back at him and say she _loves_ the little bit of green in the blue of his eyes. He'd smile at her in that way of his that was wholly genuine. Wholly _Steve_.

But he never does.

_"Is this the last act of defiance of the great Toni Stark?"_

_Yes_ , Toni thinks. There's nothing left. Nothing to offer the world. She is no one and nothing and... tired. She's so, so _tired_.

The arc flickers.

Toni can feel the life leaving her body. It starts in her toes, her fingertips, travelling up her arms and legs at a rate that leaves her head spinning. She's growing colder by the second, and she _knows_ what dying feels like, but this is... different. It's different than when Obie pulled the reactor from her chest. It's different than being on that table in Afghanistan, screaming as faceless men and women tried desperately to keep her alive.

She'd wanted to live, then. But now... Now, it's a _relief_. She _wants_ it to be over.

Toni closes her eyes, thinking of her mother, of the only person who ever _truly_ loved her. The one who died simply for being married to a Stark.

_Howard_ —

She can't hold on much longer; her broken chest whistles with each breath she takes. Breaths she knows will be her last.

It's then that Toni realizes no one is coming after her. Hell, no one even knows where she _is_. She has no one left. Rhodes—if he wakes up—will resent her for what happened to him. Because it was her fault he'd taken that hit. Her fault she hadn't been able to get to him quick enough. Her fault her fault her fault—

Tony lets out a broken sob, the shattered shards of her suit cutting into her ribs. _She has nothing left._

With that final thought piercing her already damaged heart, the arc's ever-present light is snuffed out like a candle, and her breathing ceases altogether.

. . .

It's not the first time Toni's dreamt of Siberia.

When help finally found her, her heart was no longer beating. It had stopped two more times after that, the nurses told her when she woke up two weeks later, alone, in a hospital in Siberia.

No one came to visit her (well, no one she particularly cared about), and some small, festering part of her preferred it that way. If people care about you, you have the capacity to disappoint them. And Toni has a long, long history of disappointing people.

"You told me you had it under control," General Ross tells her for the umpteenth time since he arrived at the hospital. He claims he wants to make sure she's healing accordingly, but Toni knows now that every word that comes out of his mouth is bullshit. Whatever he wants, it's only to further his own personal agenda. Has been since the beginning.

"I _did_. It's not my fault that Zemo guy sent a bunch of rampaging super soldiers on us." The lies leave her mouth easily, as they always have. Toni doesn't know why she doesn't just tell the truth. She's used to protecting people, she supposes, and old habits really do die hard. "I was prepared to bring Rogers and Barnes in," she insists, trying not to choke on _his_ name. "Not fight off five more just like them."

Ross grunts, clearly annoyed with Toni's lack of a narrative.

"Well, they're in hiding now. So we can't touch 'em," Ross grumbles. "It's a good thing we nabbed the Maximoff girl when we did. I can't imagine the damage she could have caused if she was set lose on the world."

Toni goes quiet. Guilt suffocates her, heavy and unyielding. _We played this wrong,_ Nat's voice echoes in her ears. Toni knows now that she was right. Romanoff's good at remaining impartial, even with her noticeable ties to St— _Rogers_ —and she's smart. Smarter than Toni, in many ways that count. But Toni's always made choices with her heart, rather than her head. She had Rogers for that.

"We need you back in the field," Ross commands, shattering Toni's thoughts. "How much longer till you'll be combat ready?"

Toni's perfectly false 'press smile' (as Nat used to call it) slides right into place. "Is that concern I detect, General?"

Ross's eyes are glacial when he looks at her. "Hardly," he growls, voice lowering. Whatever he's about to say, apparently it is not for the ears of the hospital staff. Toni's stiffens when Ross leans down, his mouth much too close to her ear for her liking. "I want you to pay a visit to the Raft, to question the rogue Avengers on the whereabouts of the rest of their team."

"That's not—"

Ross cuts her off. "They are growing restless, Toni. I need you to remind them what _prison_ feels like."

Toni stills. "You want me to torture them." It's not a question.

"You know what you need to do," is the General's only response.

A voice creeps up on her, drawn to the surface from the depths of her memory.

_Don't waste it. Don't waste your life._

_I won't_ , Toni had promised Yinsen back in that cave. _I won't_.

Yet here she was. She had let this bastard of a man play her for a fool. Let him manipulate her into thinking what she was doing was right. And maybe it was; Toni's intensions were usually good, they just never played out the way she wanted them to. But, somewhere along the way, she'd lost sight of what truly mattered, what the Accords were supposed to do: keep the innocent safe. Keep her _friends_ safe. "I'll see that it's done, sir," Toni says to the General, giving him her infamous Toni Stark smirk.

_Don't waste it._

_I won't._

It was about time she followed up on that promise.

. . .

Toni's heart hammers in her chest the whole ride there. She doesn't bother returning to New York. It doesn't have a place for her anymore. Besides, she knows once she goes back, she'll have at least a hundred stacks of paperwork to go through, and she's _really_ not in the mood to sift through it all.

Instead, she tells Friday to take her directly to the Raft.

_This will be it,_ she thinks. Her last act of defiance.

Ross will have her put away for it. Probably in the Raft (don't think she doesn't appreciate the irony). But Toni's not planning on giving him the chance to lock her away. Besides, she's always been a whore for all things poetic.

"This is it," Toni thinks, aloud this time. One more stand to right the wrongs of the past. Then she'll wash her hands clean of the Avengers and leave it, _all_ of it, behind. Whatever form that takes, she's game. She was ready to die in Siberia at the hands of the man whom she loved. Dying to save her former friends isn't that much of a stretch, really.

"We're here, boss," Friday's animated voice quips in Toni's earpiece. She stands—and immediately regrets doing so. Pain spikes, radiating from the center of her chest. From her arc. It's so intense her vision goes black for a moment.

Her knees hit the ground, and her breaths come in harsh pants through clenched teeth.

"Perhaps you should have stayed in the hospital."

Toni forces herself to chuckle. Sometimes she forgets how cheeky a mood she was in when she programmed Friday. The AI's voice practically _oozes_ sarcasm.

"Perhaps," is all Toni says before she's hoisting herself back up, because that's what she _does_. She always gets back up. The doctors back in Siberia tried to keep her from leaving, too. Apparently, a shattered chest isn't something that can heal in two weeks. But Toni was out of time. _Is_ out of time. There's no telling what Ross would get away with if Toni was out of the picture. Wanda Maximoff would probably be dead, or close to it, if Toni hadn't had Friday do extensive background checks on all of the security officers in the Raft. And now that Ross is trying _torture_ the fallen heroes... No, Toni didn't have time to heal.

"How's my suit, Fri?"

"Prepped and ready for battle."

"You're the best." Toni's finger finds the hidden latch in the quinjet wall, and her suit instantaneously begins to form around her. Toni relishes in the familiar sound, the familiar scent, of Iron Man. For the first time in weeks, she feels safe. However briefly.

The exit platform lowers, and suddenly Toni's all-too-reminded of her last visit to the Raft, Clint's words still ringing in her ears.

_"Better watch your back with this one. She might just break it."_

Toni thinks of Rhodey. He'll probably hate her for this when he wakes up. _If_ he wakes up.

She quickly disperses the thought.

"Boss," Friday says softly. Well, as softly as an AI can sound. "Please. Be careful."

Toni almost smiles. There's a strange sort of emptiness that comes with knowing the only one who cares about you is the AI you created. "I always am."

And then she's blasting through the air, the Raft's hulking presence looming in the swirling, jagged Pacific waters. A chill traipses down her spine.

_This is it._

. . .

The officers welcome her back like she's an old friend.

Toni stalks through the decrepit halls of the Raft, trying to ignore the terrible ach that has settled deep within her chest. A security officer—Toni immediately forgot his name—leads her to the chamber she knows will make her knees buckle.

"My niece loves you," the man remarks. "Has all the collectible toys and shit."

"How nice," is the only response Toni can manage. She's too busy mulling over in her head how, exactly, she's going to get everyone out of the Raft unharmed.

"She even has Iron Man pyjamas. It's kind of ridiculous."

They make a turn, and Toni has to hold her breath to keep herself from letting out a sob when she sees it: her friends, her family, in cages. Because of _her_.

"Are you sure you're okay going in there alone?"

Toni eyes the officer up and down. After all this time, people are still underestimating her. It's a good thing she has a particular proclivity for proving them wrong.

"I think I'll be fine. Besides," she motions to the arc in her chest, it's light showing though her black tank top. She's left her suit back at the entrance, wanting to appear as unthreatening as possible. When the officer's gaze locks onto the arc, Toni quickly places a hacking chip below the desk, clicking a button so that it begins to tear down their systems one by one. "I've got this, remember?"

The man smiles, looking somewhat dazed.

Then the doors to the chamber are opening, and before Toni has the chance to reconsider what she's about to do, she's sauntering inside, her guilt trailing behind her like a cloak.

. . .

Barton greets her first. "You look like shit."

Toni lets out a small chuckle. "I've had better days, I suppose."

He doesn't laugh. Doesn't even smile. His eyes are cold and full of... hatred. Hatred that is directed at _her_.

"If you've come to gloat—"

"That's not why I'm here."

Sam pipes up from his own cell. "Where's Steve?"

_His_ name takes Toni's breath away, but she steels herself against echo of pain that lances across her chest. She doesn't want them to have any inkling of what happened in Siberia.

"Wakanda, along with Barnes. They've taken refuge there."

"Refuge? Refuge from what?"

_From me_ , Toni almost wants to say. But that's not entirely true. They've taken refuge from General Ross. From the United Nations. From the shoot-on-sight order put against them. And, Toni supposes, from her.

"The FBI put a shoot-on-sight order over their heads. I'm working on getting it lifted," Toni says quickly when Sam's face twists. "But it takes time. No government official is exactly eager for the return of someone who only abides by the law when it suits them."

"And what about us?" Barton seethes. "I have a family, Stark. And I haven't seen them in _weeks_."

Toni doesn't bother to mention it was Clint's choice to go against the law and fight a war that wasn't even his. She doesn't mention that it was his choice to leave his family, despite knowing what could happen. He probably _does_ know all that, is probably being eaten alive by guilt. Toni doesn't need to rub more salt into that particular wound.

She presses a button on her Stark phone that cuts the audio from the room.

Toni takes a deep breath, straightens her spine, then turns to the man whom she once considered family.

"We need to talk."

. . .

She tells them the same story she's been telling everyone else. The same lie. Barton doesn't give any indication that he cares about or is even listening to what she's saying, but she knows he does, and he is.

"I'm going to put him away, Barton," she says fiercely, teeth flashing. Then she turns to the rest of the former Avengers. "I'm going to lock the bastard up." She tries to will as much strength into her voice as she can muster. It still sounds so small to her own ears. "I know it's not enough. It'll never be enough. But if I can make sure General Ross never sees the outside of a cell, it's something."

Barton remains quiet, eyes still cold but perhaps a bit less so than before. Toni will take any victory she can get.

Sam's the only one who speaks. Maximoff doesn't utter a word, though that isn't too surprising. Toni can see that whatever manacles they locked around her wrists are draining more than just her power. She feels that familiar, heavy weight of guilt settle on her shoulders.

"When do you think we'll be getting out of here?" Toni suppresses a wince at the hope—and desperation—in the man's voice.

But in this, at least, she has good news. "I wouldn't worry about that," is all Toni says, because, truthfully, she's always been a fan of all things theatrical. "Friday? You know what do to."

"Sure thing, boss."

A click, the whine of a bolt sliding free, and a moment later, the cell doors swing open.

Sam jumps to his feet, Barton seems to be frozen in a state of shock, and Lang just looks confused. Clearly, none of them were expecting this. Toni drinks in their surprise with grim satisfaction.

"What's the plan, Tones?" Barton inquires almost breathlessly, and the familiar nickname makes her heart ache.

"We have about one minute before the alarms start blaring, so I'll make this snappy." Wanda doesn't vacate her cell like the rest of them. She hasn't moved an inch since Toni's arrival. "There's a quinjet on the roof programmed to take you to the outskirts of Wakanda, where T'Challa will be waiting to escort you safely into his country. The UN can't lay a hand on you there, unless they want to start a war with what we now know is probably the most dangerous country in the world." Clint's eyes widen almost imperceptivity. "You'll be safe. Pepper has recruited the best damn team of lawyers one could dream of. They're going to work with her and Rhodey—once he wakes up—" Toni pointedly ignored Sam's wince, "—to find a loophole in the Accords. She's under strict orders not to stop until you are all back home, and the charges against you have been lifted." Toni huffs out a sigh. "If there's one thing I can say about my ex, it's that she's absolutely ruthless, and never backs down from a fight."

Barton crosses his arms, his gaze somewhat accusatory. "And what about you? What are _you_ going to do?"

Toni flashes him a dagger-edged smile.

"I'm going to hold them off while you escape."

"Toni—"

"Why?" The hollow voice makes the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Wanda is standing, finally, but she looks... _God_ , she looks like she hasn't slept in weeks. She looks like a shell of the person she was before the Accords. Before everything. When Toni looks at Wanda, she sees the worst parts of herself mirrored back at her. Maybe that's why she's always been shady around the young girl, because she's a fucking walking reminder of the demon's Toni's created. "Why?" The Maximoff girl repeats, her voice measurably louder.

Toni crosses the room, trying, and failing, to ignore Wanda's flinch when she reaches her.

"Because I made a mistake." Toni looks into the girl's eyes. This is a wrong she should have righted a long time ago. But, god, she was such a _coward_. Rogers was right.

_You're not the one to make the sacrifice play. To lay down on the line and let the other man walk over you._

"I made a mistake," Toni repeats, a bit louder this time. "But I'm trying to make it right." She reaches up with a shaky hand, knowing that this could very well be the choice that finally ends her, and unlocks Wanda's shackles.

The world _doesn't_ erupt into red as Toni had braced herself for. The Maximoff girl _doesn't_ throw her across the room. Doesn't even slug her across the face. Her eyes widen. She looks Toni in the eye for what she thinks might the first time, and offers a nod, but that's it. And, perhaps, it's enough.

The moment shatters when an alarm—of which Toni swears she'll hear at the gates of hell—finally begins to scream.

Toni smiles, despite the panic that churns in her stomach. "Go," she breathes. "I'll keep them from trailing you."

Sam opens his mouth, hesitation, but also unflinching _loyalty_ , shining in his eyes. Toni wills her suit to take shape around her arm and points a repulsor at his head.

"I'm serious, birdbrain. If you don't leave now, you won't make it out."

Barton gives her a small nod, a gesture of peace, she thinks, before he takes the lead. The rest of the team file out after him.

Toni's eyes sweep the chamber one last time, before she turns on her heel, gives the camera an especially vulgar gesture, and leaves this particular fracture in her past behind.

. . .

Steve Rogers couldn't sleep.

It wasn't as though his efforts had been particularly painless _before_ the Accords (ever since the ice, his dreams were filled with his best friend slipping between his fingers, a kiss that should never have been the first, or the last, and the moment he awoke in a world he didn't know, as a man he didn't know). There was just something... different now. After everything, the world had tainted him, somehow. Made him rougher around the edges.

And when he couldn't sleep because of... everything... he went to the one person he knew with unflinching certainty he could trust: Bucky.

Only this wasn't Bucky. Not really. Not when he was so... _still_ , entombed in a chamber of ice.

"I'll see you when you wake up, pal," Steve says softly, even though he knows his best friend is physically unable to hear him. Bucky had only been back under for a few days now, but seeing his friend frozen, forever suspended in time, still left Steve feeling slightly winded.

"Captain."

Steve turns at the soft, yet unyieldingly powerful voice of the King of Wakanda.

"Your Majesty." Steve regards him with a respectful nod, before returning his gaze to the Cryostasis Chamber.

"I thought I would find you here." T'Challa sidles up next to him. Steve sees his shoulders visibly deflate with a sigh in his periphery. "Shuri is developing a technique to heal the scars HYDRA inflicted. Though it will take time to rebuild his mind, and even longer still, I think, to rebuild his trust in people."

Steve swallows thickly. "Thank you, Your Majesty. For everything."

Tearing his gaze away from the frozen chamber, Steve turns, planning on returning to his rooms to give sleeping another try, or just going to the training grounds to work himself until he could barely move. A firm hand on his shoulder stops him.

"One last thing."

And T'challa, the man who always knows the right path to take, whose faith in people and love for his country triumphs over all, hesitates.

Steve's heart stalls in his chest, one word echoing horribly to the beat of his heart: _Toni_.

It's not the first time he's thought of her since Siberia. Not by a long shot.

Her hears her wistful laughter on the wind that blows in from the north. He sees her reflected in T'Challa's younger sister, Princess Shuri, who's almost as effortlessly genius and charmingly arrogant as Toni.

She's like a phantom limb. He can feel her there, her presence at his side, her warmth and strength and endless willingness to open doors to anyone who needs her. But then he turns, and she's nothing but air, her screams as he drove his shield into her chest echoing in the wake of her absence. It's his curse, he thinks. He deserves to feel her blood on his hands like gloves he can't pull off.

"I'm only telling you this because I believe you are an honest man, deserving of the truth." There's a conflicted storm in T'Challa's eyes, as though he knows Steve's not an _entirely_ honest man. Not anymore. Steve's hand almost reaches up to massage the knot in his chest, before he realizes it has nothing to do with anything physical. "I have been in contact with one Miss Antonia Elena Stark."

His breath catches at her name. T'Challa trudges on.

"She and I have been synthesizing a plot to emancipate your friends from the American prison commonly known as the Raft."

The King's words hit him like a blow.

"But I was—"

"I know you wanted to save them yourself, but the FBI placed a shoot-on-sight order on you. It was announced this morning."

"Oh," he says, feeling eternally unintelligible.

"Miss Stark contacted me two days ago. She was..." T'Challa loosened a short chuckle, and a line forms between Steve's brows. He's never seen the king _laugh_ before. "...very _convincing_ , in her case that it be _her_ responsibility to set the rogue Avengers free, not me or any of my men."

"She... I don't..."

"I want us to be honest with each other, Captain. That is why I'm telling you this. Miss Stark is ensuring the freedom of your friends as we speak, and they will be joining us here before the night is over."

"But—I... She can't do that on her own."

T'Challa's mouth forms a tight line briefly, before he continues, "I mentioned the same to her, but it was evident in her message that she wished to do this alone. She specifically requested that I keep you in Wakanda."

Oh. _Oh_.

Steve can't blame her, but he still feels something instinctive prickle beneath his skin. An itch. An itch to protect her. Even though—

_He killed my mom._

"I received a confirmation from her just a few moments ago that your friends are on their way. I hoped you would join me in welcoming them to my country."

_Oh, Toni_. Steve's heart throbs so painfully he almost lets out a sob. God, she was so _good_. Had always been, despite the things he'd said to her.

_Take off the suit, and what are you?_

He shuddered at his own words. Words he desperately wished he could take back now. Because she was so much more than her suits. So much more than the illusion she slid into place, so the world would never know who she truly was. She had lifted that illusion, trusted him enough to give herself to him, and Steve... He'd practically spat on the trust she offered.

Steve nods, because he fears that if he opens his mouth, all the words he didn't say—the ones he will regret for the rest of his life—will spill out onto the medical wing floor.

T'Challa turns to lead him to the quinjet waiting across the courtyard, but Steve stops him with a hand on his shoulder, mirroring what king had done to him just moments before. "Wait. I... Is she..."

T'Challa must have seen the question written all over his face, because he smiles sadly at Steve, and says softly, "She spoke nothing of the events that transpired in Siberia. And I don't think she will. Toni... From what little I've learned about her, I think she trusted you, perhaps more so than any of the others." T'Challa's eyes become cold, then, and Steve feels a shiver rake it's nails down his spine. "And I think your betrayal will fracture her trust in not only the Avengers, but in people themselves. I wouldn't expect her forgiveness, Captain. Not any time soon."

Steve opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish out of water. He deserves this, he knows. He'd made his choice long ago to protect not only Bucky, but _himself_.

And that one choice... That one choice was costing him _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to give hate or praise in the comments. Similarly to Toni, I thrive on both.


	2. A Willing Sacrifice

Toni knew before the first hit she took that this was a fight she could not win.

In truth, she'd known that the moment she landed on the Raft, had refused the King of Wakanda's offer of backup for that very reason.

This was her price to pay, and hers alone. She would have no one else die because of her choices. Her mistakes.

Sam and Clint had given her a nod before they boarded the quinjet, and Toni took that as a sign of, perhaps, forgiveness, even though Wanda had simply floated into the aircraft using her strange and deadly abilities. Toni didn't let it bother her. Besides, before she even had the chance to feel the sting of guilt, Lang had given her probably the most uncomfortable wave (that was really more of a wince than anything else) she'd ever seen. For the first time in long, long while, Toni had the urge to _laugh_.

That urge was surely obliterated when the doors to the uppermost level of the Raft had burst open, and a sea of armed soldiers streamed through it like roaches.

So, she's fighting. With everything she has. She even let herself bare a self-assured smirk when her friends took to the skies, their aircraft whizzing passed her in a blur of silvery light.

Toni dodges blow after blow, kick after kick, until her body is so exhausted, her movements so slow, that it's as though she's fighting under water. Her bruised lungs constrict with every breath, the feeling all too familiar, almost enough to send her into a full-blown anxiety attack. The fight's the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees.

"What are you doing?" A security officer shouts at her. "I thought you were the one who put those bastards away!"

"Those bastards," Toni seethes, her voice muffled through the face slit in her mask, "are my friends. And I'll be damned more than I already am if I let you torture them any longer." She lifts her hand, aiming her repulsor at another guard's chest. He goes down with a groan.

"You're outmatched, Stark. Even if you can take all of us from the ground," the security officer gives a pointed look to something behind Toni, "You'll never reach your friends before they're shot out of the sky."

Toni whirls—only for every ounce of air to leave her lungs in one great _whoosh_. Because other aircrafts were soaring through the air, weapons blazing, headed in the direction of the quinjet that was supposed to be carrying her friends to safety.

Toni doesn't give herself a chance to breathe. Doesn't even hesitate. She shoots the bastard taunting her in the chest and launches herself into the sky, uttering a stream of curses that would impress even Rhodes.

"Give me some juice, Friday."

The new blaster Toni had installed on her way here—the one she'd created to make sure the next time Rhodey, or anyone she cared about, fell again, she'd be quick enough to reach them—forms around her boot jets with the click and shift of titanium. And then she's blasting through the skies, cutting through the air quicker than ever before, and Toni has barely a chance to appreciate the steady work of her hands before she reaches them: the ones trying to put the rogues into the sea.

People seem to possess the habit of underestimating her, Toni thinks as she launches a missile at one of the aircrafts. It explodes in an array of light and metal and fire. The pilot is launched into the air, a parachute easing his fall as he drifts towards the jagged Pacific waters. Toni knows her weapons won't hurt the pilots inside; she built the damn things, after all. And these men are just following orders. They don't deserve to give their lives for this, for being good, dutiful soldiers. For being loyal.

Another aircraft soars in front of her, but before Toni even thinks to open her mouth and order Friday to launch something, red magic—the kind that made her see her greatest fear what feels like a lifetime ago—encases the jet, the metal warping with an almost human-sounding cry. Another pilot is ejected, and Toni, despite herself, looses a shout of victory when she flies in front of her quinjet, and sees Wanda, hands and eyes glowing red.

The girl could be so much more powerful, Toni thinks. If she'd had more time to train. If Steve had spared her the guilt of not being able to control her powers before he threw her into dangerous missions without a second thought.

Clint—who was the one flying the quinjet like a goddamn genius—gives Toni a thumbs up through the front windshield.

Toni allows herself to smile.

Perhaps she could go with them. Go to Wakanda, where she'd be safe. Where she would be free of responsibilities. Free to tinker and be with her friends and, hopefully, make up for everything she'd done. The weight on her chest was already feeling measurably lighter. And it had only been a couple of hours since she'd left the hospital, where it had felt like an _anvil_.

Toni is so enthralled imagining that perfectly fulfilling life, she doesn't notice the other jet sneak up behind her until the full force of an automated repulsor cannon is directed solely at her.

The world explodes. For a moment, she sees nothing but a cascade of whites and oranges and reds. Toni is suspended in time, her chest _screaming_. And then she's falling.

Pieces of the suit fall away from her body, the thing she'd so lovingly built with her own two hands thoroughly shattered within _seconds_. Toni is vaguely aware of her hair whipping around her face, the world a blur as her stomach flies to her throat. She hears a scream she isn't sure is her own.

And then her back hits the water with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. She draws in a desperate breath, only to choke and sputter when the sea fills her lungs. And then she's sinking. Slower now. The man she'd loved had threw himself into waters like these once, before her. Before the Avengers. It was... almost poetic, that years later she'd be the one to mirror his sacrifice. Or, it would have been, if her lungs weren't burning with all the fires of hell.

_I thought dying was supposed to be peaceful_ , Toni thinks begrudgingly. She flutters her legs a little. A futile attempt at finding a surface unbeknownst to her. Because, in all honesty, there wasn't a single moment in Toni's life that she wasn't drowning in some way or another. Choking on her own riches as people waltzed in and out of her life, one by one, when they decided she wasn't worth sticking around for. _Take off the suit, and what are you_? Drowning herself in sex and booze in a sore attempt to feel something other than perpetual guilt. _Whore_. Bathed in the blood of the innocent. _Merchant of Death_. Betrayed by the man she loved. _He's my friend._ With those words, Steve had practically shoved her head under the fucking water.

Toni stops kicking. Stops searching for a surface she knows doesn't exist.

And when her body begins to seize, Toni stops trying.

And when her lungs finally conclude their screaming, Toni stops thinking.

And when her fingers twitch one last time, Tony stops breathing.

. . .

Clint doesn't even get the chance to warn her before Stark explodes in a cacophony of red and gold metal.

" _Jesus Christ!_ " one of his comrades, either Lang or Wilson, cries.

_NO_ , is the only word flashing through Clint's mind. No. Not her. Not _Toni_. There's no _fucking_ way—

And there she is, the genius, the most odds-defying women he's ever laid eyes on, tumbling from the sky like a gods-damned fallen angel.

Clint knows what she would have wanted. He knows he's putting everyone on the quinjet in jeopardy when he shifts it into a nosedive position. But no one voices their concerns, they just cling onto their surroundings for dear life as the sky and the sea become a blur around them.

He wouldn't have cared if they would have. Because it was Toni. _It was Toni_.

And there was no way in hell he was letting her die. 

. . .

He was trying—and failing miserably—not to show how utterly terrified he was to see his crew (and possibly Toni, though Steve cast that intrusive thought far into the depths of his mind) again. Steve _had_ been planning on breaking them out himself, once he knew for certain that Bucky was in good hands, and the fact that he wasn't there right now—that someone _else_ was paying a debt that belonged to him—really did not sit well with the soldier. And the fact that it was Toni...

He was the one who'd recruited them in the first place. It was his fault they were there, not Toni's. They should both be there freeing their team—their _family_ —together. But instead, Steve was here. Waiting. Every bit as useless as he was before the serum. And he hated every damn second of it.

The outskirts of Wakanda were bordered by a thick, merciless wooding. It was so dark Steve barely saw the outline of his own hand when he held it out in front of his face. T'Challa had mentioned that—though Wakanda was now open to the rest of the world, it didn't mean said world had free reign to come and go whenever they desired. Thus, the protective shield around the main city remained intact.

"I've made contact!" one of the Wakandan soldiers calls to his King, who was conversing in hushed whispers with the Dora Milaje—ruthless warrior women who had, more than once since Steve's arrival in Wakanda, threw him on his ass when he joined them in some light training (though what was considered "light" for them had Steve producing an almost embarrassing amount of sweat within minutes).

"It's Clint Barton!"

The familiar name has Steve's head snapping in the direction of the soldier. "They're safe?"

T'Challa moves to the soldier's side with all the grace of feline, and speaks with him in a tone too low for Steve to pick up. A slippery feeling enters his stomach. A feeling that something is terribly, terribly wrong. Steve heart thuds in his chest as he stalks over to the King to demand answers.

"What's going on?"

A line grows between T'Challa's his brows. He frowns at something his soldier says, eyes flickering to Steve briefly, then to something in the distance.

Steve feels it, then. The subtle shake of the ground. The shift in the air. All telltale signs of an aircraft close by. More specifically, the quinjets Stark had created for the team. He'd recognize the familiar hum of the engine anywhere.

"Lower the barrier," T'Challa says in a soft, reserved tone.

Hope—brimming and unwelcome—blossoms in Steve's chest. He doesn't want to believe it's real. Doesn't want the universe or God or whatever being watches from above to have the chance to take it away from him.

"Captain."

Steve barely hears the king as he watches the quinjet finally come into view, blasting towards them at an almost dizzying speed. They're going fast. Too fast. Clint would never fly like that. Unless—

"Steve." He turns towards T'Challa now, finding it difficult to draw air into his lungs. The King's eyes are softer than usual, almost... sad. It's not exactly a look Steve finds comforting. "I need you to prepare yourself for what you're about to see."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

T'Challa gives him a knowing look, and Steve's chest tightens to the point of pain. 

The quinjet lands shakily. Wind whips Steve's hair—which has grown out a bit during his time in the hidden country—against his forehead. He tilts his head up towards the sky, praying to whomever will listen that they're safe. That they're alive.

The landing gear hits the ground with a noise that makes Steve flinch.

There's nothing. No one.

Only silence.

Silence, and then—

"I need medical!"

Steve's hope plummets.

T'Challa had a team of medical staff waiting on site, "Just in case," he'd told Steve. A few of them jog towards the quinjet.

A figure appears in the landing platform, too encompassed in shadow for Steve to make out who it is. He thinks maybe it's Barton.

"She took a hit in the chest, and I—I couldn't get to her in time—"

Definitely Barton. There's a small figure held tightly in his arms. Steve can only make out dark hair, and the shape of a woman's body. _Wanda_.

Steve begins to move towards the quinjet, but his steps are slow, paced, as though he's wading through muck.

Barton finally steps into a patch of light. He has blood on his cheek, and his face is pale. Paler than Steve's ever seen it, even when Ultron nabbed Nat a few years back and they couldn't locate her. Steve's eyes fall to the woman in Barton's arms, and he _freezes_.

Because it isn't Wanda.

_Wanda_ doesn't have hair cropped to her collarbones. _Wanda_ doesn't have a chunk of god damn metal sticking out of her chest. Metal that should possess that ever-present glow—but doesn't. _Wanda_ isn't the woman he thought he loved. Wanda isn't _Toni_.

"What happened?" T'Challa inquires with that infinite patience he always seems to carry with him.

Steve's feet are planted to the ground, caught between wanting to rip Toni from Barton's arms and hold her to his chest, and running as fast as he can in the opposite direction. It's always been that way with Toni. He's always hesitated when it comes to her.

"She saved us," is all Clint says. His eyes are wide as saucers and possess a blank, far away expression. The man, the _spy_ , who's probably seen worse horrors than Steve could ever imagine, is in _shock_. "She saved us."

Barton places Toni's broken body on a medical gurney. She doesn't move. Doesn't scream or smirk or do any of the thing's Toni is supposed to do. Shards of red and gold cling to hair, but it's her chest that Steve's eyes keep flickering back to, the light that's gone out.

Steve's going to be sick. He's going to be _sick_ if he continues to look at her—but he also can't let himself look away. Because he turned away once, and now... _Now_ , Toni's bleeding out on a table, just like she had on the frozen ground in Siberia when he'd—

" _Steve_."

He blinks once. Twice.

"Sam?" A flash of red. "Wanda?"

Steve barely even registers the arms that wrap around his shoulders.  " _Steve_. Thank god you're alright."

He was, and he wasn't. Physically he was annoyingly, perfectly fine. His scars were roots that ran deep into the bowels of his soul, and the sight of Toni's ruined body had fractured it. _Shattered_ it.

_It's what I deserve._

"What..." His voice gives out. God, why was it suddenly so hard to _breathe_? "What happened?"

Sam visibly swallows. It's bad, then.

Steve's gaze follows Toni's lifeless form as she's hauled onto one of the Wakandan jets. No one says anything until the it takes off, racing towards the golden city.

"What happened?" Steve asks again, his voice firmer.

Sam looks to Wanda, his feet, then back to Steve. "Like Barton said, she saved us."

"That wasn't... She wasn't supposed to do that," Steve breathes.

"What?" Barton's voice makes them jump. " _Save_ us? She's the reason we were there in the first place."

"It wasn't just her fault," Wanda says softly. "We made our own choices, and we knew the consequences."

"Oh, so now that she apologized to you, you're willing to overlook the fact that it was _her_ weapons that killed your parents?"

" _Clint_."

Wanda stares at her feet, eyes glossy.

"I'm... That was too far. I'm sorry, Wanda." Clint huffs out a sigh, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "I just don't understand how everything fell apart. We were a team."

Steve's throat closes.

Hadn't Toni told them what happened?

"She saved us, Steve. She saved us, even after we fought her. And now she's the one paying for it." Barton's voice is heavy. He probably misses his family. Steve hadn't even thought about how hard that would be on him. "It isn't right."

_It isn't right._

One of the Wakandan soldiers approaches them. "Captain Rogers. I have orders from my king to escort you and your friends back to the city."

Steve barely nods. Barton, Sam, and an all too-quiet Lang follow the soldier in the direction of another jet. Steve moves to follow them.

"Steve," Wanda's eternally eloquent voice makes him pause. "There's something you should know. About Toni."

Wanda takes a deep breath, as though preparing herself for what she's about to say. "I was a part of the revolution in Sokovia for... a long time. I did things—saw things—I will never be able to forget."

What did this have to do with Toni?

"One particular memory that stands out was when Pietro and I's friend was used as a suicide bomber." Oh. _Oh_. "There was this... look in eyes, when he went charging into a battle he knew would be his death. I never thought I'd see that look again, but..."

"What, Wanda?"

Her mouth twists to the side, like she's chewing on the inside of her cheek. She takes a deep breath. Steve steels himself. Even though he knows nothing will prepare him for the words that leave Wanda's mouth a moment later. "I saw that look again today. In Toni's eyes. This wasn't a fight she was planning on walking away from."

No—no. There was no way Toni would willingly allow herself to get hurt like this. She wouldn't...

"Think about it, Steve. Who's the person that always writes their own sacrifice into our missions? New York? Ultron? And I don't... I don't know what happened in Siberia, but when she showed up at the Raft...  there was something different about her."

Steve remembers, then. He remembers when be brought up his shield, and she'd... she'd thrown up her hands to protect herself, but she hadn't used her repulsors. _Why hadn't she defended herself?_

"You know I'm right."

He does—but knowing and admitting are two very different things.

"I hope... I hope saving Barnes was worth it."

Wanda gives his arm a comforting squeeze, before following the rest of the team onto the jet.

Steve stands in the Wakandan wooding, waiting for his heart to stop pounding, waiting for the guilt twisting in his chest to ease.

It doesn't.

Steve turns and makes his way to the aircraft, five words echoing in the wake of every step.

_This is what_ _I_ _deserve_ _._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really out here dragging Toni through the dirt.


	3. Fallen Hero

Toni only remembers small details when she wakes up: 

The world exploding in her ears.

The smell of singed hair.

A voice telling her to hold on. To not die, because they'll kill her if she dies, and make sure her name is Toni _Stank_ on her obituary.

Red eyes meeting her brown ones.

A hurt eased. A weight lifted.

Water in her lungs.

Cold encasing her bones.

She doesn't know where she is when she opens her eyes. Panic immediately sets in: she's back in Afghanistan, Obie never died, Rhodey never found her, it was all a dream, a figment of her imagination so she could deal with the pain the torture the loss the—

"Good afternoon, Miss Stark."

Her surroundings come back into focus.

She's not in Afghanistan. She's... Well, she still not entirely sure where she is, but it's definitely not a cave in the dunes of South-West Asia.

She recognizes the smell first: a metallic tang from stainless steel mixed with the unmistakeable sweetness of bleach. A hospital room. But where there is usually the sound of doors sliding open and shut, intercoms calling out codes and directions, and squeaky wheelchairs, the world is utterly silent.

A girl stands in the doorway, a tablet in her hands. She has dark skin, and full enough cheeks that Toni can assume she's around Peter's age. Much too young to be a doctor of any kind, but then, Toni was only eleven when she'd built her first real weapon. And Peter was running around New York, clad in a million-dollar suit, fighting off guys twice his size. Age really had nothing to do with the capabilities of someone. They were all living proof of that.

"Where am I?" Toni's voice is raspy and frail as that of a woman twice her age.

The doctor or nurse or whatever the hell she is gives Toni a small smile. "You are in Wakanda."

Toni gives a pointed glance to her surroundings. "This doesn't look like Wakanda."

The girl's smile only widens. "That's because the world hasn't seen the true Wakanda yet. You are one of few, Miss Stark."

A huff. "Stop calling me that. It makes me feel old."

The girl—whose name Toni still has yet to know—purses her lips together, as though stopping herself from saying something particularly malicious.

"Your arc has taken extensive damage. I've done everything I can to fix it besides surgically removing it from your chest."

Toni feels a spark of panic at the girl's words.

"It would be a very invasive surgery, as I'm sure you're well aware. I need your consent before I am able to proceed—"

" _No_."

The girl quirks a brow. "No? But, Miss Stark—"

"No." Toni was shaking her head. "Look, I appreciate what you did to save me—" Lie. "—but I can fix it myself in my lab. Which I'll be heading back to promptly, if you don't mind—"

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave. My br—the King wishes for you to stay a while longer. At least until you've healed. We'll be able to keep an eye on you here, to make sure that this," she gives a pointed glance to Toni's probably sight-for-sore-eyes state, "doesn't happen again."

Toni swallows. So it was T'Challa that saved her. Or, at least, who gave the order to do so. She should have known the man wouldn't let her sacrifice herself in peace.

"How long?"

"At the very least..." Toni leans forward. "Two weeks."

Toni scoffs. "Yeah, no. Not happening. I can't be away from my work for two weeks, Miss... Whatever." Toni throws the off-white, bleach-smelling sheets over the side of the bed, and before the nursedoctoragentsomething can even open her mouth to object, her bare feet are touching cool, slate tiles. She stands. The pain registers a moment later. 

The world tilts.

Toni sways.

The girl is at her side in an instant. "Miss Stark—"

"I'm—I'm okay," Toni grits through clenched teeth. It's a lie, of course. The pain is _blinding_ , radiating from the center of her chest. " _Fuck_."

"Miss Stark, _please_ sit—"

"Toni. Call me Toni."

The girl rolls her eyes half-heartedly. "Toni. Please sit down."

Toni wants to, she's so god-damned exhausted. Only sheer force of will keeps her on her feet. That, and perhaps the comforting hand on her elbow.

"Do you have a name, then?"

The girl twists her lips, as though she's biting the inside of her cheek; she's contemplating whether or not to reveal this piece of information to Toni. If she's trustworthy enough. Immediately Toni regrets asking. She doesn't want to make the girl uncomfortable—

"Shuri," says the girl. "My name is Shuri."

The princess of Wakanda, is what the girl—Shuri— _doesn't_ say.

Oh, yes. Toni's heard about _her_.

Her eyebrows fly up to her hairline. "Woah. It's an honour to meet you." Shuri smiles but waves her off with a dismissive flourish of her hand.

"The honour's mine. I've loved your work since I was a child." Toni decidedly _doesn't_ argue the fact that she's, technically, still a child (because Lord knows how pissy Parker gets when she reminds him). "I remember when you announced to the world that _you_ were the one running around in the Iron Man suit, and I just... You've been a role model for me for a very long time."

Toni swallows the lump in her throat, and promptly ignores the fact that her eyes are burning. She experiences things like this all the time. It shouldn't be affecting her the way it was, and yet... There was something about the princess that demanded the utmost respect, a ferocity and intelligence of which she carried herself. It made Toni think that perhaps, if her parents had been nurturing, if they hadn't been murdered in her youth, maybe Toni could have been a bit more like Shuri. Brave and beautiful and passionate, rather than rugged and bitter and alone.

"Thank you, Princess. For saving my life."

Shuri's lips tilt upwards. "It's an honour, Miss—Toni."

Toni gives her a secretive smile. The kind she knows will bring a smile to most children's faces.

"My brother, the King, requested that I alert him when you are awake." Shuri paused, biting her lip. Toni urges her on with the mere tilt of her head. "He wishes to meet with you to discuss the actions you wish to take regarding the Accords."

Toni sighs. _No rest for the wicked_. "Alright then. Lead the way, Doc."

"I have to do an evaluation on how you're healing first."

"Ah. Fine, then. Let's get this over with."

Shuri presses her hand to Toni's chest, and it's only then that Toni notices the cast that's wrapped around her breasts.

"The cast is to keep your ribs from breaking into your heart," Shuri says, as though it's the simplest thing in the world to comprehend. "Your chest was shattered during the blast."

_Shattered_.

"Do you feel anything when I do this?"

Pain lances across her body like the crack of a whip.

_Fuck_. "Nope. That means I'm healing, right?"

Shuri looks thoroughly unconvinced, but, thankfully, she lowers her hand. Toni breathes a sigh of relief.

"Follow me, Toni. It's about time you see the golden city."

. . .

_The golden city._

The name was certainly fitting.

Toni was having a hard time absorbing the pure, untainted life that seemed to ooze from every nook and cranny in Wakanda, every vendor T'Challa paused at. 

When Shuri had escorted Toni to the king, he'd taken one look at her rather dishevelled state and requested that they take a walk through the heart of his city. Toni had been albeit reproachful at first (her chest was aching something _fierce_ ), but, well, she had always been prompted by curiosity and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. And a city that was powered using an underground system of vibranium? Yeah, there was no way in hell she was skimping out on a tour of _that_. Especially not when the king himself had requested her company.

"I can't believe you've kept this place hidden for so long," Toni remarks, gazing flickering from the sprawling buildings to the bustling civilians parting around them as they make their way through the market.

T'Challa's eyes grow heavy. "It is not something I am particularly proud of."

"I—I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty. I just... I'm not one for subtlety, as I'm sure you're well aware." Toni feels her cheeks flare. She isn't entirely sure why.

T'Challa chuckles (though some sneaking suspicion tells Toni it was just for her benefit), then links his arm through hers. "As my sister would say, sometimes subtlety is overrated."

Toni laughs, and it's not even entirely fake. "I like her," she says.

"So do I." T'Challa smiles wistfully, pride shining in his molten-brown eyes. _That's it_ , Toni thinks. That's how you're supposed to feel about family. Toni had never known that feeling with her _own_ family. It was only when the Avengers Initiative began that she'd been introduced to its true meaning, and the idea that blood had nothing to do with it. Family was about finding your own people. And, just a few months ago, Toni thought she'd found hers.

"She's a good kid," Toni says, ignoring the tightness in her chest.

The king gives Toni a pointed look. "She adores you." His eyes follow her when Toni winces as she leans forward to pluck a sample of fried fish from one of the vendors. "Are you healing well?"

Toni pops the fish into her mouth, and almost moans at the taste. She hadn't noticed how ravenously hungry she was. "How could I not? Your sister's kind of a genius, from what I've heard."

T'Challa gives Toni a withering look. "That's not what I asked, Miss Stark."

Toni falls silent. Then— "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Like his sister before him, T'Challa looks irrevocably unconvinced.

Toni is eternally grateful when he moves away from the subject. "I was wondering if you would join me for dinner this evening?"

Toni almost smiles.

"How could I refuse?"

T'Challa grins at her. "Tonight's chef is one of the best in the world. Her food... it makes you feel _alive_."

The pair fall silent, but it's not uncomfortable. There was something about the King of Wakanda that put her worries at ease. He was able to see through her public mask, stoke the fire that raged beneath without adding fuel to it. He made her feel like a person, rather than a tool, a toy, a way to climb higher in the ranks of the world. Never once had she felt used by T'Challa.

"Miss Stark—"

"Please, call me Toni."

A dazzling smile. "Toni. I'll have someone escort you to our dining chambers later this evening."

"Just one thing. This isn't—like—a date, or anything, because I don't want to get the wrong impression—"

A smile brighter than the sun itself lit up T'Challa's face. "No—not a date. Just an evening with friends."

Toni smothers the disappointment before it has the chance to settle. "Friends. I could get used to that."

T'Challa's head tilts as he examined her. "So could I. I believe it would be a most honourable privilege to call you a friend."

Again. That blush.

Toni tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Here we are," T'Challa says after too long a moment. Toni halts—she hadn't even noticed them making their way back to the... Castle? Palace? She had no idea what she was supposed to call it. "This is what I was so ecstatic to show you."

The doors they'd stopped in front of a moment before swing open at the mere flick of T'Challa's fingers.

"And this is...?" Toni quirks a delicate brow at the king.

The king motions her inside. The cool, airconditioned entryway makes Toni breathe out sigh of relief.

"My sister's lab. Or, as I prefer to call it, her playground."

"Call it that again and I'll have your tongue," a chipper voice calls from somewhere Toni can't see. Toni looses a surprised chuckle at the way they regard each other, the princess and the king. It's so ordinary, so human, it makes her heart ache just a little bit.

"Need I remind you that doing so would be treason, sister?"

"Oh, pish, posh."

Together, Toni and T'Challa round a corner, only to find Shuri, looking flawless as ever, bent over a tablet and typing furiously. Toni got that. When an idea struck, she had to get it down on something as quickly as possible. And a phone just didn't give the same effect as obnoxiously typing on something overtly complicated. Perhaps is was a genius thing, Toni thought. But then, there were times when Steve would have the sudden inspiration to draw, and it wouldn't matter what he drew on: napkins at a diner, receipts, plans for a new Spider Suit prototype. Toni had spit out her coffee when she'd seen the mess he'd made of her notes, and then promptly ignored him until, almost a week later, she'd found a sketch he'd done of her with her nostrils flared and hell-fire burning in her eyes. She'd told him where, exactly, he could stick his sketching pencils, and then (because Toni Stark was nothing if not petty), she framed the picture and nailed it over the soldier's bed. Just so he would forever remain on edge under her scrutinizing leer. Briefly, Toni wondered if that picture was still there: an eternally painful reminder of what their lives had been. What they _could_ have been. Had they both not been so unyielding. So selfish.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?"

The memory crumbles. "Sorry?"

Shuri rolls her eyes so hard even Toni—master of all things sarcasm related—is impressed.

"My brother claims you can help me with a programming issue. I told him if _I_ can't figure it out, there's no way a _colonizer_ such as yourself—"

"Shuri. Play nice."

The princess sighs. Her taste for theatrics rivalled even that of Toni's.

"I believe I will leave you here, Toni. I have business to attend to elsewhere."

Toni turns on the king. Was he... Was he really trying to play _matchmaker_ with her? "Ah yes, kingly matters, I assume?"

T'Challa's eyes sparkle. "You are very perceptive, Miss Stark."

Toni only hums in response. Shuri's eyes flicker between the two of them, narrowing with each exchange.

"So," Toni strolls over to glance over Shuri's shoulder at extensive amounts of tech laid out before her. "Having issues programming, right?"

" _Yeees_?" Shuri prompts albeit begrudgingly.

"Fear not, young Padawan. I happen to be the master of all things tech related."

When Toni looks up a moment later, T'Challa's gone. She lets herself smile at the place where he once stood, and as she works, her body falling into the familiar rhythm she hadn't realized she missed so much, the weight on her shoulders begins to feel lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there's only a month left until Endgame. Who's pumped?


	4. The Setting Sun

By the time Toni comes back to the surface of reality, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon. Together, they move from one project on to the next, with Shuri teaching her all about the tech they had in Wakanda (tech that even Toni had to take a moment to comprehend), and Toni offering the young princess advice on how to adjust certain things so they could reach maximum efficiency. All in all, a day well spent, even though Toni's body began to ach profusely in the last hour of their tinkering.

"I'm assuming my brother invited you to dinner?" Shuri asks when they begin clearing papers covered in Toni's chicken scratches off the table.

"He did. Will you be gracing us with your presence as well?"

"Oh, no, _I_ wasn't invited. T'Challa claims this particular dinner is for _adults_." Toni lets out a small snort at the unbridled _disgust_ in Shuri's tone. "And I was really hoping to show Captain Rogers the shield prototype I've been working on."

Fear, slippery and unwelcome, settles beneath Toni's skin. "Captain Rogers is going?" She inquires, trying her absolute best to sound impartial (but that's never really been Toni's strong suit).

"Yes. The dinner is being held to discuss the matter of the Accords."

"Oh." _Oh_. And Toni had... She'd thought— "You know, I'm not actually that hungry. I think I'll just skip the dinner, head to bed, catch up on some much needed shuteye."

Shuri's eyes narrow. "Are you in any pain?"

 _Yes_. "No. I'm just... tired. It's been a long week." It really had been.

The princess' eyes soften. "Okay. I'll let T'Challa know."

Toni nods, before dragging herself in the direction of the entrance doors. She's halfway across the lab when Shuri's firm but tempered voice drifts over to her. "My brother is not one who will take your trust in him lightly."

Toni offers a jagged smile. "I never said I trusted him."

"You didn't have to."

. . .

Toni mulls over the princess' words for the majority of the night while she crafts a letter to Pepper, General Ross, the President, and Rhodey (though she'd barely even started _that_ one before her nails were digging into her arms painfully as she tried to catch her breath). Perhaps Shuri was right. Toni put up a front, but that's all it was: a front. A barrier to protect herself from the world, and, in turn, the world from her. But still, Cap's lie—his betrayal—had struck a particularly nasty chord within Toni. Perhaps she was too trusting. Perhaps T'Challa hadn't earned her trust. Not yet, at least (though he did save her life, she supposed).

Settling further into the bed, Toni lets out a small sigh. Shuri had shown her to what the princess referred to as her 'sleeping chambers'—the name of which Toni had scoffed a bit too loud at—and supplied her with a tablet so that she could contact Pepper and let her know she was safe. Toni took the opportunity to contact not only her partner in crime, but also the general who'd tried to have her killed (because what does she have if not pettiness and passive aggressive emails?).

A knock on the door makes Toni jump. She quickly closes the open tab and gets to her feet.

"Miss Stark?" A voice Toni doesn't recognize calls from the hall. "The King has requested your company in his private dining chambers."

 _Lordie_. It's as though she's been taken back in time to a land of crowns and squires and god damn wimples. Toni doesn't think she'll ever get used to the fucking propriety of it all.

Despite the protests of her unbelievably sore arms and legs, Toni heaves herself up and unlocks the door.

"Yes?" She prompts when a man—who she's assuming is a guard—surveys her up and down and blinks. Does she really look that terrible?

"My King wishes—"

"—to see me in his private dining chambers, yes, you already said that." Toni crosses her arms. "Didn't Shuri mention that I was too tired to dine with His Majesty?" She arches a well-groomed brow.

"My King insists."

Toni taps her foot, analyzing the guard with that critical eye of hers that most people squirm under.

"Well, he's not _my_ king, Terminator, so if you don't mind—"

"Toni." _That_ voice made her pause. "Please."

Toni turns to find the King of Wakanda striding across the hall towards her. There's something in his eyes... Something that makes her shut her mouth with an audible snap.

"I know you ought to be exhausted, but there are things we must configure regarding the Accords if your friends are to return—"

"It's okay, T'Challa. I'm not that tired anyways." _Lie_. The king gives her a withering look, as if he knows. "Cross my heart and kiss my ass or however the saying goes."

T'Challa's shoulders visibly deflate, and guilt coils like a snake in Toni's stomach. She wasn't even considering how her actions could have been affecting the young king. She was... She was so _selfish_ sometimes.

T'Challa begins his descent down the hall. "Your Majesty, I—" Toni voice breaks. She swallows.

"I thought I told you to call me T'Challa."

He gives her a warm smile Toni is sure she doesn't deserve.

"Right. I just... I'm not ready to see them. My friends." Toni huffs out a laugh that is steeped in self-loathing. "I'm sorry. I know we need to discuss the Accords, but—"

"You don't ever have to apologize to me for speaking your truth, Toni. I want us to be honest with each other." T'Challa tilts her chin up to look at him, and Toni's skin dances a little under his touch. "I won't force you to confront them. Though I do think it's important to face your demons, or they will root themselves in you and begin to rot."

It's good advice, Toni thinks. But it's been given to her far too late to be of any use.

Still, she tucks the small piece of advice into her heart, the way she does with all of T'Challa's careful words of wisdom.

"So." Toni links her arm through T'Challa's. "Where are these private chambers I've heard so much about?"

T'Challa's rich laughter echoes across the palace halls.

. . .

Steve knows two things for certain: the first, coffee is both a gift and curse. He'd been throwing back mug after mug of the stuff since the night he'd been reunited with the rest of his team, when he'd decided that sleep was overrated, and he didn't need it anyways. The second, Wakanda had probably the clearest night skies he had ever seen.

The rest of his seemingly never-ending existence, however, was a complete mystery. To prove this fact, no matter who he inquired of Toni's condition, he was met with vague non-answers and half-truths. All he knows is she's alive, but the rest of the story—the parts people seemed keen on avoiding—was eating him alive.

"I know." The sound of Clint's voice wafting over to him makes Steve rip his gaze from the majestic night sky. He's on the phone—probably with his wife, Steve guesses. He'd been on the phone a lot lately. Though he didn't appear to be doing that much talking. "I _know_. But, Laura, I was just doing what I thought— _Fuck_." Clint sighs heavily, holding the phone against his forehead with both hands. His eyes are closed. Steve should probably look away, but he doesn't. "Dammit."

The words leave Steve's mouth unbidden. "Everything okay, Barton?" It's probably the worst thing he could have said.

Clint's eyes flick over to where Steve leans over the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. Almost instantly, Steve sees a flash of rage twist Clint's features. He smooths them out quickly, though. It always startles Steve how well he does that, reminds him of what he really is: a spy. An assassin.

Clint ignores his question. "Thinking of jumping?"

Steve gives a short laugh. "Not yet. Though I'm pretty close, to be honest."

Clint sidles up next to him, leaning against the railing as well. He stares up into the night sky, stars shining in the reflection of his eyes. Silence envelopes them, but it's not entirely uncomfortable. If Steve closes his eyes, he can almost imagine they are back home, in the courtyard of the compound. Where he belongs. Not here, doing nothing while people pay the price for his actions.

"How is she?" Barton asks suddenly.

Steve doesn't need to ask to know who he's asking about. "I don't know," he answers honestly.

Clint sighs again. "This really has been a shithole of a month."

Steve barks out a surprised laugh, and a bit of the weight on his shoulders eases when Clint offers a small smile in return. He counts it as a victory, and Steve's in desperate fucking need of those.

"So, what's the plan, Cap? You've got your best friend back. We're safe. But we're outlaws in our own country."

Steve turns to look at Clint. "Barton, I promise, I will do whatever it takes to get us home," he growls fiercely. "Whatever it takes."

"That's the problem, Steve." Shock prickles down Steve's spine. "I know you'll do whatever it takes. That's the reason we're in this mess."

Steve opens his mouth to object, but Clint stops him by raising a hand.

"I'm not looking for a fight," the hawk insists. "I just need to know that if we go back, things will be different. You'll be different. Because I know you were fighting for what you thought was right, but..." Clint rubs the back of his neck. A nervous tick he's never been able to break. "I think we played this wrong. If we'd just listened to her—even for a minute—maybe, we could have avoided this mess. I mean, compromise is still a thing, right?"

Steve knows exactly the reasoning behind Barton's thoughts, because he's been having the same conversation in his head for months.

"Look, all I'm saying is we can't change the past. But you have the chance to be better in the future. And my family and I are counting on you to do that."

. . .

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Well, it is my kingdom after all."

"Har har. All I'm saying, Kittycat, is that this place feels a lot more like a morgue than those _private chambers_ —" Toni pauses to wave her hands in the air in an arcing motion, "—I've been hearing about."

T'Challa laughs, pausing in front of a pair of double doors. "I promise, Miss Stark, your expectations are soon to be exponentially exceeded." He gives Toni an arrogant smile that, because it's from T'Challa, still holds a certain charm. "The balconies are particularly lovely this time of night."

The doors swing open.

Toni feels a smile begin to spread across her features—before it comes to a screeching halt when her eyes lock on the man in the balcony.

Toni freezes.

_He's my friend._

_So was I._

Ste— _Rogers_ leans against the balcony, Barton at his side. But she only sees Steve. She sees his face: the curve of his nose that she used to trace with her finger. The dark lashes that ring his bluegreen eyes. The slight furrow between his brows. And then he laughs, and the sound is so familiar it hurts.

T'Challa tenses, before allowing the doors to swing shut once more. He turns, and his eyes are pleading.

"Toni—I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't know he would be—"

"It's okay," Toni forces herself to say, though she's finding it rather difficult to breathe. "Really, it's fine."

"We'll go to a different room. One I can assure won't have anyone from your past waiting in it."

Toni gives T'Challa a reassuring smile. "Okay," is all she says. All she _can_ say.

They walk on together, though T'Challa's heavy gaze never leaves her face.

. . .

"I think we could reword this sentence here. It says all heroes must be registered on an official government record of current enhanced. If that record were to fall into the wrong hands—"

"It would essentially become a to-kill list for our enemies."

"Precisely."

They had been going over the first section of the Accords for what felt like days, but was only a few hours. There was so much to correct. So much she hadn't seen before.

"What if we made the record optional? As in 'Hey, wanna be an official Avenger? Here's a non-disclosure form to sign first so you're accountable for your actions.'"

T'Challa's mouth quirks up in a small smile. "That way, those who wish to remain hidden and continue living normal lives can do so."

"Exactly."

Toni glances at the clock. It's five in the morning. They've been at this for _six hours_ , and have still barely even made a dent in the overtly large stack of paper.

Toni lowers her forehead onto the table—that's completely covered in the papers her and T'Challa have been sifting through—and groans. "At this rate, I'm going to have to stay here for a lot longer than six weeks."

Toni feels a warm and comforting hand give her shoulder a light squeeze. "You're right. We need more eyes on this. And more importantly, more voices."

Toni quirks an eye open to give the king a judgemental look.

T'Challa exposes his palms to Toni with a knowing smile. "Captain Rogers _is_ particularly skilled when it comes to matters such as this—"

Toni groans again, much louder this time.

T'Challa's smile falls. "Toni," he says more firmly this time, though it's still soft compared to the way he often speaks to others.

"I'm not denying that he's skilled. I lived with the guy for the better part of four years—I know he's good at this political stuff."

"It's the emotional side of things you're worried about."

Toni's silence is an answer in and of itself.

"You don't have to confront what happened in Siberia," T'Challa tells her softy. "All I'm asking is that he be present in at least one of these meetings in the future."

Rather than respond, Toni stares at her hands. She traces the many scars wringing her fingers, the soldering burns, the tales of battle etched into her skin. And, of course, the pinkish-white line that cuts through her left palm. That one was the result of trying to cut the pit out of an avocado in an artistic fashion. She'd been attempting to cook dinner for Steve—despite her limited experience in the kitchen—when it happened. He'd had that concerned Steve-Rogers-Furrowed-Brow look as he kneeled before her and bandaged her hand. And then he'd looked up at her with such shameless adoration glittering in his eyes that Toni almost couldn't stomach it. Needless to say, they'd ended up ordering in that night.

"We'll keep things purely professional," she finally says, her throat tight.

"We'll do whatever it is you're comfortable with."

And because Toni knows T'Challa wouldn't ask her to do something like this if it wasn't truly important—because she knows she'll have to face _him_ eventually—Toni agrees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No reunion yet. How y'all doing?


	5. Old Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I haven't updated in three months. Sorry. Have y'all forgotten about me?

Toni’s decided she doesn’t need to sleep. She’s gone 72 hours without it before, and besides. Sleep is for pussies. T’Challa seems to silently agree. They’ve been sifting through the Accords—complemented now by Toni’s awful chicken scratches—for the better part of a week, and they’ve gotten just under half of the way through the extensive amount of paperwork. All in all, Toni’s sort of proud of their work. All of her previous inventions needed extensive amounts of fine-tuning in the past. The Accords were no different.

“I think we’ve made great progress,” T’Challa says through a yawn. Perhaps Toni should make a jab about T’Challa and yawning and possibly The Lion King, but she’s far too tired to be snarky.

“You say that every night.”

“And every night we make great progress.”

Toni huffs out a laugh and stands, her chair squealing lightly beneath her. “Alright, I’m off.”

“To bed, I hope?”

Toni scoffs. “God, no. Shuri and I have been working on a new project, I’m heading to her lab now.”

“A new project?” T’Challa gives Toni a knowing grin. “Sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, it is. But it’s also top secret.” Toni pats the top of T’Challa’s head affectionately. “Sorry, Kittycat. Some secrets must remain untold between us if we’re to keep the mystery in our relationship.”

“Have a drink with me tonight,” the young king blurts suddenly. Toni halts, slightly taken off guard.

“You mean as friends?”

“Of course. As I’ve said, I’m spoken for.”

Toni grins. “When are you going to let me meet her? I’ve heard so much about the brave spy who stole your heart.”

Ever the secretive bastard, T’Challa dances around her question. “You know, I’m really glad you and my sister are getting along so well. She could use a wise influence like you.”

Toni pauses in the doorway to throw a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself a ‘wise influence.’”

“Ah, call yourself whatever you want, Miss Stark. I see through the facade.”

“Sure you do, sweetheart!” Toni calls in a sing-song voice. T’Challa’s laugh echoes behind her.

 . . .

 

After so much time spent in Shuri’s lab, when Toni enters it, she feels some semblance of comfort.

 

She’s grown quite accustomed to the Wakanda tech, and the thought of having to leave the golden city within a week’s time fills her with a surprising amount of dread. She ignores the fact it doesn’t just have to do with the extensive amounts of paperwork surely waiting for her back home.

 

“Honey!” Toni calls as soon as the glass doors slide open, allowing her entry. “I’m h— _shit_.”

 

There, with her head resting against the tablet she always seems to have dangling by nimble fingers, the new prototype for Cap’s shield in her lap, is the princess. Completely and utterly asleep.

 

Toni smiles. With the usual snark gone, her face is smoothed over. For once, Shuri almost looks her age. Sometimes Toni forgets how truly young the princess is. How much someone who’s only been alive for seventeen years has been through.

 

Toni slides off her jacket and slips it around the girl’s shoulders.

 

And when the princess lets out a loud snore (of which Toni is. . . probably much too excited to tease her for), Toni doesn’t try to hide her smile. They come easier to her these days. Some are false—but then, when you are born and bred into the public arena, faking your happiness tends to be second nature. But the point is, sometimes she smiles. And sometimes, she means them.

 

With a sleeping princess in the lab and her bed a place ridden with nightmares, Toni heads to the place she hopes no one will be this time of night: the training grounds.

 

During her first few days in Wakanda, Shuri gave her multiple tours of the palace. It had taken a while to memorize the layout of everything, but Toni’s taken to roaming the halls during the night when everyone else is sleeping, so she almost knows the layout of the entire palace by heart. There’s something slightly terrifying about being the only one awake, surrounded by a country that sleeps. And, maybe it’s something that Rogers instilled in her long ago, but when sleep evades her, she needs to do _something_.

 

So, training. Anything to keep herself busy.

 

Toni begins with a light stretch—some kind of ancient routine Pepper had her learn to keep her posture straight since she was always ‘hunching over her tools like a god-damn 87-year-old’. She ignores the twinges of pain coming from her chest, which is still entrapped in that fucking cast that has become the bane of her existence. Her muscles burn, but it’s pleasant. The kind of pain that turns everything else, every dangerous thought, into background noise.

 

“Oh—hey.”

 

Toni jumps at the voice. Fear prickles at the base of her neck, and she immediately feels her body shift into a defensive stance. Her shoulders relax a bit when she sees its only Sam. Some of the tension stays in her shoulders, though. She hasn’t been alone with any of her former friends in. . . weeks. But Sam’s probably the safest one, Toni thinks. She silently thanks the universe for its small mercies.

 

Sam lingers in the entryway, fidgeting like an eight-year-old boy. “Sorry, I can go somewhere else if you want to be alone.”

 

“No,” Toni says immediately, surprising herself. No. For once, she doesn’t want to be alone. The thought is both comforting and terrifying. “It’s fine. Stay.”

 

Sam nods once, then awkwardly makes his way over to the punching bags. Toni almost smiles—no doubt he learned to take out stress by beating something from Steve.

 

Toni’s chest gives a hollow ache like the throbbing of an infection. She pushes the thought of Rogers aside and turns a treadmill onto its highest setting. She’s going to run until she can’t feel anything besides the delicious burn of aching muscles.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sam asks a few minutes later when they are both sweaty and out of breath.

 

Toni shakes her head, evading the fact that she didn’t even bother to try. She hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since… Well, since she first arrived in Wakanda, unconscious. T’Challa has other duties to attend to in during the day—being a goddamn King, of course—so the only time they have to work on the Accords is during the small hours of the night. The rest of the time Toni spends tinkering or working on the Accords on her own.

 

“What about you?” Toni asks, chest sweaty and heaving.

 

Sam shrugs. “Guess I just don’t feel the need to anymore.”

 

Toni walks over to the punching bags, picking up a roll of gauze.

 

“Nightmares?” She wraps one hand, then moves on to the next.

 

“Sometimes.” Toni can tell by the rigidity in Sam’s shoulders that this isn’t a topic he’s particularly interested in discussing. She doesn’t push.

 

Sam throws a heavy punch, and the bag swings back. Toni grasps it, holding it in front of her.

 

“Most of the time I just feel guilt.” Another punch. Toni holds the bag steady.

 

“Guilt?” _That_ catches Toni by surprise. What the hell does Sam Wilson have to be guilty for? Compared to the rest of the Avengers, the man is practically a saint. “About what?”

 

“Washington. The Accords.” Another punch.

 

“Washington wasn’t your fault, Sam. It was HYDRA. It was… completely out of your control. And as for the Accords…” Sam’s face twists. Ah, there it is. Therein lies the wound. “The Accords were my fault. It’s _my_ burden to bear. Not yours.”

 

“Rhodey. He got hurt because of me.” Oh. _Oh_.

 

Toni falls silent. She hadn’t expected that. It makes sense, Toni thinks. Even if it wasn’t really Sam’s fault. Guilt works in strange, asshole ways like that.

 

“Rhodey was an accident. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m the one who ordered Vision to take the shot.”

 

Just saying his name makes Toni’s stomach churn, the memory of Rhodes falling from the sky rising like bile in her throat. Sam shouldn’t be feeling guilt for something wholly accidental. Or, at the very least, he shouldn’t be feeling that guilt alone.

 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last three weeks, it’s that sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes people _die_. And the most painful part is there’s nothing you can do about it.”

 

Sam’s fists hang heavy by his sides. Toni tosses around the idea of giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze but decides against it. Maybe they’ll get there eventually, but, for now, her company is enough.

 

“I haven’t gone to see him yet,” Toni confesses. “I’m… scared, I think. That he’s going to wake up and decide I’m not worth fighting for anymore.”

 

Sam’s eyes snap up to hers. Toni forces herself not to look away.

 

“He’s stuck by you all these years, Stark. I doubt anything could scare him off now.”

 

Toni takes a deep breath and offers a small smile. The heaviness in her chest lightens a bit when Sam smiles back.

 

. . .

 

 

Toni returns to her room sweaty and thoroughly exhausted, but she feels _good_ for the first time in… weeks? Months? Her mind is covered in a thick, dense fog these days.

 

Toni showers and changes so swiftly she almost doesn’t notice the large box waiting for her on her bed. It’s gold with silver detailing and has a note attached with T’Challa’s unmistakable printing.

 

 

I hoped you would wear this tonight. I’ll find you at 7:00.

 

\- Kitty-Cat

 

 

And below T’Challa’s, in a much less elegant scrawl,

 

 

I’m the one that picked it out. It matches your eyes.

 

P.S. My brother needs to relax. Please help him do so?

 

\- The Better Sibling

 

 

Toni lets out a little snort. Of course Shuri would hijack T’Challa’s gift. The girl was much too clever for her own good.

 

If the princess T’Challa’s growing stress, then Toni would see to it the young king relaxed, or at the very least let loose a little. After all, Toni used to be _very_ good at partying.

 

. . .

 

After another day spent in the shop with Shuri, Toni is surprisingly excited to spend the evening in the city. Of course, her excitement only spikes when she sees the dress T’Challa bought for her.

 

It’s a shade of maroon that indeed compliments her eyes and the colour of her skin, which has become marginally more golden during her time in the blistering Wakandan heat. Toni runs her fingers along the silky fabric. It’s like nothing she has ever felt; not even her finest dresses back home were so soft. And the fit… The dress drapes over her body like a liquid, hugging all the curves and dips of her body perfectly.

 

Toni’s eyes drift to the clock on the nightstand. Five minutes passed seven. T’Challa, the impeccable man, is late. Should she stay here? He did say he would find her…

 

Deciding she’s tired of waiting for everything and everyone, Toni ventures into the palace. He probably just got caught up with a lord or lady or whatever his subjects called themselves here. It wouldn’t hurt to look for him, Toni supposed.

 

. . .

 

She was right. T’Challa is speaking with one of his warriors when Toni finally finds him in one of the common rooms.

 

Her face breaks out in a smile when T’Challa turns—but the smile fades when another figure comes into view. Steve.

 

Well. Shit.

 

She knew their paths would cross sooner or later. She just… hadn’t wanted it to be so soon. And then there was the matter of the dress.

 

Sam whistles lowly, eyes wandering over Toni’s figure. “Shit, Stark. That’s quite the dress.”

 

Toni forces herself to laugh through clenched teeth as she approaches them, her hands in fists at her sides. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Wilson.”

 

She doesn’t look at Steve, though she can feel his heavy gaze on her like a brand. She stops beside T’Challa, giving him an expectant look.

 

“So.” She says, voice tight. “Dinner?”

 

“Yes, of course. I was just speaking with the Captain about the changes we’ve made to the Accords thus far. He had a few pieces of advice regarding section six paragraph five, the captivity of dangerous enhanced.”

 

“Shocking.” The word slips out of her mouth before Toni thinks to stop it.

 

T’Challa ignores her bitterness. “We were going to schedule a meeting in which we could all discuss the New Accords. Perhaps tomorrow?”

 

“Whatever works for the _Captain_.”

 

T’Challa gives Toni a pleading look. Toni gives T’Challa an apologetic one. She knows she’s being petty, unfair, but she’s always been this way—selfish—and truth be told, it’s extremely hard the break free from the mold of old habits.

 

“Fine. Tomorrow. Or whatever fits into your busy schedule, Your Majesty.”

 

T’Challa offers his arm, and Toni links her’s through his. She feels a sense of comfort at the touch. Almost as though it’s T’Challa’s way of saying he understands how difficult this is for her, and he has her back.

 

“We should probably have a meeting as soon as possible.” Toni grits her teeth at the sound of _his_ voice. “We have no idea where Natasha is, and whether or not the government has caught her—”

 

“Have a little faith. Nat’s a spy, Rogers. The best there is. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. And besides, if Ross did have her, he’d be rubbing it in our faces right now.”

 

From what Toni can tell from out of the corner of her eye, Steve looks stunned. As though he can’t believe she actually addressed him.

 

T’Challa begins to steer them away from the group.

 

“Have fun you two!” Sam calls. “Just not too much fun!”

 

Toni flashes Sam a vulgar gesture as the door swings closed behind her.

 

. . .

 

“The dress looks lovely on you.”

 

Toni’s cheeks heat slightly. “Thank you. And tell Shuri I say thanks, too.”

 

“She told you?”

 

Toni gives T’Challa a knowing smile.

 

The King sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Of course she did.”

 

Toni is already so full from the meal that she can barely fit a spoonful of dessert into her mouth before she leans back herself, one hand on her stomach.

 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to move for days. You’re going to have to roll me back to the palace.”

 

T’Challa chuckles. The silence that follows is thick—the same silence that’s peppered small moments of their dinner. Toni knows T’Challa well enough to recognize what it means: he wants to say something. Something Toni most likely _won’t_ want to hear.

 

“Alright, Kitty-Cat,” Toni says after taking a long sip of her spiced wine. “I know you have something to say. Spit it out.”

 

T’Challa groans. “Am I that obvious?”

 

“No, I’m just exceptionally gifted in the art of examining people.” T’Challa rolls his eyes. “But yeah, you are being that obvious, and I can practically smell the anxiety wafting off you. So spill it.”

 

“I wanted to wait a few more days, but I fear General Ross is fabricating quite the propaganda against the Avengers, and without you there to defend yourself…”

 

“We need to move faster. I get it. It’s no problem.”

 

T’Challa looks strained, unsure. It’s an expression Toni has never seen from him before.

 

“T’Challa. Just say it.”

 

“Ross has put out a pretty price for the death of James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

Toni stutters. “Like an assassination?”

 

T’Challa nods. _Jesus_. Toni knew the guy was slippery, but _this_ …

 

“He’s safe here, of course. No assassin can get through our borders, and I trust my people. But he cannot stay here forever, and neither can you.”

 

Toni knows that. She does. But really, what is T’Challa expecting of her? That she go on trial in America to _defend_ the man that murdered her parents?

 

“I can’t do anything about that.”

 

“You mean you won’t.”

 

Something in Toni flares. An old wound torn open. “Well, what do you expect? He murdered my parents. He murdered hundreds, T’Challa.”

 

“You mean HYDRA. HYDRA murdered hundreds, and used Barnes to do it.”

 

“It was still him. His hands. His weapons.”

 

“The very weapons you created were used to cause the destruction of entire villages, Toni.”

 

The memory of that Afghan village—the smoke and screams and smell of decay—rises like bile in her throat.

 

Suddenly, she feels defensive. “That was different.”

 

“Was it?” Toni feels her nails bite into her palms. She doesn’t want to remember any of that, but T’Challa forces her to anyways. “You didn’t have a say in the matter. They used you to cause the death of innocent people. How would you feel if people resented you for it, even though it was completely out of your control?”

 

Toni groans. “I’ve heard this speech before. It doesn’t change the fact that he _choked_ —” Toni swallows. “He choked her to death with his bare hands.” Her mom. The only person who’d ever truly loved her.

 

 _Howard_ —

 

“I can’t just let that go.”

 

T’Challa’s eyes soften. “I’m not asking you to. All I want is for you to make peace with the demons of your past. Barnes happens to be one of those demons.”

 

“Why?” Toni asks suddenly. “Every move you make is calculated, so why push me to forgive Barnes? What piece does that play in your political game of chess?”

 

T’Challa makes an exasperated sound. “I’m only looking out for you. That’s all.”

 

Toni’s face twists. “Don’t give me that bullshit. We know each other well enough to skip the formalities. What purpose does forgiving Barnes serve? What do you want me to do?”

 

T’Challa sets his jaw. His gaze burns into Toni’s. “Shuri has begun building Barnes a new arm. He will be woken up from Cryto tomorrow, and I was hoping—”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“Toni—”

 

“How dare you ask this of me? You really want me to build an arm for the man that _killed my parents_?”

 

“Well, you did destroy his last one.”

 

Toni’s chair screeches as she gets to her feet. “I can’t believe I trusted you. You pretended to be my friend so you could use me. You’re just like everyone else.”

 

“Toni… Just think rationally for a moment. Cast emotions aside—”

 

“ _Fuck you_. I’m done. I’m done with this.” She motions to the air between them. “I’m done with the Accords. I’m fucking done.”

 

Toni turns to leave. How could she have been so gullible as to think that a man like T’Challa would actually want to be her friend? She was a damned fool for allowing him to get close to her. A damned fool.

 

“If you don’t face your demons, Toni, they will make a monster out of you.”

 

Toni halts. Turns. Her eyes are dry—too dry, like she’s been holding everything back for so long that she doesn’t even have the ability to fucking cry anymore. She’s empty. Numb. The one person who made her feel something after all this time—the one standing before her—has broken her trust like all the rest. It’s maddeningly predictable.

 

She has no one. Nothing.

 

“They already have.”

 

. . .

 

 

Toni’s leaving. She doesn’t care whether or not T’Challa wants her help. She doesn’t care if he thinks she should rebuild the friendships she destroyed. Those ties are _severed_. The words St— _Rogers_ said while beating her armour in are etched on her heart and soul. And heading back to New York, scratching her name off the Accords and the Avengers Initiative forever, _that’s_ how she’s going to rinse her heart of the stain they’d left. That’s how she would go on. It was the only way.  

 

She doesn’t have anything to pack up, besides a few items of spare clothing that she doesn’t really need, but she’s petty and needs to do something with her hands, so she folds them and puts them in a duffel bag anyways. Toni looks down at what she’s wearing—the maroon dress T’Challa had gifted to her—before promptly ripping the treacherous thing off her shoulders. She leaves it lying in a discarded heap on the floor. A subtle ‘fuck you’ to the King of Wakanda. It would have to do.  

 

Toni pulls on a pair of fleece leggings, but when she lifts her arms to tug on a purple sweater, she drops to the floor, pain radiating from the arc.  

 

“Shit— _Fuck_.” She _has_ to stop forgetting the shattered chest. Breathing too hard, clenching her hands into fists, Toni forces herself to her feet. She glances at the cast encasing her chest, giving it a withering look.  

 

The arc blinks weakly up at her.  

 

Toni holds her breath.  

 

The light stabilizes.  

 

Toni breathes out.  

 

Yeah, she _really_ needs to stop forgetting the shattered chest.

 

Toni chuckles weakly. Is this really what she’s turned into? A sad, meekly old woman with a shattered chest and a too-trusting heart? God, she’s a fucking joke.  

 

Howard is probably rolling in his grave.  

 

. . . 

 

Steve isn’t sure how he ended up here.

 

He was just taking a walk to clear his head, still sweaty from training with the Dora, when he saw her door was left ajar. And Steve—damn him for it— was worried about her. The bags under her eyes were growing heavier with each day, don’t think he hadn’t noticed. He’d practically spent the majority of that last few days staring after her like a lost puppy, as Barton loves to remind him. So, he worries when he sees her door has been left open—and when he hears a little yelp of pain from inside.  

 

Steve peers inside her room. He doesn’t see anything at first: the room is the same as his, just a little less lived in, and it smells like Toni. Like sauter and sweat and the coconut shampoo she uses. Steve takes a moment to breathe it in, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taken a step inside.  

 

Toni is nowhere to be found, but there’s the dress that took his breath away, lying in a heap on the floor. Discarded. As though she’d taken it off in a hurry. Steve’s heart plummets—because what if she took T’Challa back to her rooms, what if she had company, what if what if what if— 

 

A gasp to his right.  

 

Steve whips around, cheeks immediately going pink. He feels like a child caught stealing candy from the cupboard.

 

Toni is wearing what looks like a centuries-old MIT sweater. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail—the kind that used to make him want to kiss her exposed throat. Her makeup is still on, though it looks as though she’s accidentally rubbed her eyes and smudged the mascara there. Steve’s eyes fall to the duffel bag held by loose fingers.  

 

 _Is she leaving?_  

 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. His heart pumps furiously in his chest, and he wonders if Toni can hear it. He wonders if it’s as loud to her as it is to him.  

 

“Toni. . . " 

 

“Get out.”  

 

It’s the first words she’s really spoken to him since Siberia, and they split his chest in two. Steve _deflates_.  

 

“Toni—” 

 

“Get. Out.” She’s breathing hard, clutching her arc like it’s a lifeline.  

 

Steve looks to the floor, shame filling the empty spaces Toni’s carved out of him.  

 

“Please.” It comes out as barely more than a whisper. A whimper. He’s begging her to… to what? To stay? To let things go back to the way they were before Siberia?  

 

Toni says nothing. Just glares at him with pure flame in her molten brown eyes.  

 

Something within Steve splinters, because he knows, he _knows_ it’s his fault. Maybe if he’d listened to Toni, if he’d tried to reason with her, if he hadn’t lied to her and himself about so many things…  

 

Toni lets out a small sound: something between a sob and a growl.  

 

And Steve doesn’t want to turn away from her again, but he also knows where he isn’t welcome. He knows him being here is only doing more harm than good.  

 

But maybe, after more time has passed, maybe Toni will be willing to speak with him. To allow him to explain his jagged side of things. She’s always been forgiving, even if she doesn’t like to admit it. She’d given Natasha a second chance after finding out she was a double-agent. It wasn’t too great a stretch to think that maybe she’d give Steve a second chance as well, right?  

 

Steve turns. And walks out the door.  

 

He leaves Toni for the second time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the long wait. Hopefully this chapter was worth it? I don't know. At least we got some Steve/Toni interactions this time around. And, I promise, the next chapter won't take three months. Hopefully.


	6. The Face of the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so just a heads up: this one's an emotional rollercoaster (I mean, what did you expect. It's ME we're talking about here). I also kind of hate parts of this chapter but WHATEVER. Buckle up ladies and gents and my non-binary friends.

Steve gently closes the door behind him, and Toni just… stands there, frozen. Mind spinning. Heart reeling.

Why was he in her room? Was he snooping, searching for some sort of evidence that would prove her the disgraceful monster he’s always thought her to be?

_“Take off the suit and what are you?”_

_“Genius, billionaire, voluptuary, philanthropist.”_

_“I know folks with none of that worth ten of you. And I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself.”_

The duffel bag hangs limply from her now-numb fingers, her eyes lingering on the door.

_“He’s my friend.”_

_“So was I.”_

Toni misses her friends. It shocks her to her core, but she misses the long nights spent typing up mission reports for Fury. She misses the shit-hole Chinese takeout they used to order. She misses the movie-nights, the missions, the laughter. Hell, she even misses the small, insignificant arguments.

Was that what Rogers had with Barnes before he went under the ice? Everyone always referred to them as family, as brothers—perhaps even something more (though that was just speculation between her and Nat). All Toni knows is that if Rhodes or Pepper died, and Toni had a chance to get them back, she would do anything and everything in her power to make it happen. Even if it meant lying to her friends. She would stop at nothing. And that’s exactly what Steve had done. He’d had the entire government after him, he’d tarnished his new relationships. The world was falling apart around him but it didn’t matter because he had Barnes.

Toni’s chest aches. Ah, there it is again. Regret, remorse, guilt, and running like a current through it all, understanding. They were one and the same, her and Steve. Two sides of the same coin, or some shit like that. She hates that she understands him. It makes everything that much more difficult. It would be easier if he shared that same understanding of her; of what she’d been through, her fucked-up past. Nat did. So did Clint—even if he was an asshole about it at times, Toni knew that if she truly needed him, he’d be there. And maybe there was something building between her and Sam now too, but not the others. Not Maximoff, or Lang, or Steve. They didn’t understand her, even if they _thought_ they did. Their perception of her was crooked—bent, like the funhouse mirrors you see at carnivals. She knew what they expected her to do when emotions ran too high: flee. Scurry back home to her money and fame and tech and one-night-stands. It’s what the Toni of four years ago would have done.

Toni decides, still staring at the space where Steve had stood, pleading her name, that she’s not ready to forgive. Or forget. 

But perhaps she’ll prove them wrong instead.

. . .

 

Toni doesn’t sleep that night—unsurprisingly. Instead, she fabricates what she hopes is a substantial apology to T’Challa. Well, not an _apology_ , per se. Just a nicely-worded speech telling him where, exactly, he could shove his kingly advice, but that she’d try to cast her emotions aside when it comes to Barnes from now on (though Toni suspects she’ll never be able to fully succeed in that endeavour). She’s already lost so many people. She doesn’t want to lose him too.

Toni decides to head to the lab, and, of course, Shuri is already there, her hair in little buns on the top of her head, her lip slightly curled in concentration. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the object looming on the table in front of the princess.

“That Barnes’ new arm?”

Shuri doesn’t look up. “Are you here to destroy it like you did the last one?”

“No, I’m—” The words stall in her throat. Why was she here, really? To atone for the mistakes of her past? No. Toni doesn’t regret blasting off that arm. She was here because… “I’m here to help,” is the best answer she can provide.

Shuri finally looks up. Her eyes are glazed, and Toni knows that look all too well. Shuri’s mind isn’t here—it’s in her tech. It’s far away. Even still, the princess holds Toni’s gaze, then nods as though finding something satisfactory within it. “I suppose I could use an assistant.”

 

. . .

 

Shuri didn’t consider herself a princess.

Princesses, in all the movies she had watched as a girl, were proper. Composed. Content to live a life of fulfilling their royal duties, drinking copious amount of tea, and marrying a nice cookie-cutter white-boy prince. When it came down to it, they were all content to live a life of _boredom_. Shuri had never been any of those things. “Don’t be like the rest of them,” her mother used to say. “Break the mold.” And oh, how Shuri had.

Those princesses weren’t mechanics. They didn’t invent things. They were mediocre at everything—and exceptional at nothing.

For a time, Shuri had tried to be like those princesses. She’d always thought that was how she was supposed to be, that somewhere along the way something within her mind had gone horrifically wrong. That is, until she discovered Toni Stark.

When Toni announced live on television that she was the one everyone had assumed was a man running around in the iron suit, Shuri had been watching. She was only a girl then, but even she had felt the sudden shift in the world. Because Toni was a woman. She might as well have been a princess, like Shuri. And women didn’t fight. Not like that. Not with all the strength that Toni possessed. Just like that, Toni Stark had become Princess Shuri’s hero.

When T’Challa had told her that Toni was coming _here_ , her home, Shuri could barely contain her excitement. Toni was her childhood hero, Toni had taught her to _break the mold_. And then Toni arrived, half-dead and nearly frozen, and Shuri saw the woman behind the mask for the first time.

Getting to know Toni was no easy feat. The woman was both literally and figuratively encased in a protective armour. Until today, when Toni had shown up to help with Barnes’ new arm, Shuri had thought she’d had her figured out. She saw someone who was selfish, someone who revelled in gluttony and privilege. Someone who didn’t deserve the voice they had been given. But now…

Now, she saw someone who was brave—and broken.

Toni’s selflessness and arrogance were both a gift and a curse. When she first announced that she was, in fact, Iron Man, the world had become divided, half obsessing over the iron-clad warrior-woman, chanting her name in celebration, while the other half claimed she was a fraud, wrapped in wealth and privilege, a ploy to make the lesser folks feel even lesser. Shuri even felt the divide within herself after Ultron. The divide was evident in the Avengers as well. Despite the fact that Toni was just trying to save them.

But that was the problem with Toni Stark— _that_ was her curse. She could cut out her own heart for the people she loved, and all they would see is her blood-stained hands.

 

. . .

 

T’Challa always enters the lab at the most inopportune of moments.

“It was made in Wakanda, so it should possess the Wakandan colours!”

“ _Purple_ and _yellow_? Yeah, I’m sure a hundred-year-old man would absolutely _love_ that combo.”

“Well, what do you think the colour should be, huh?”

“I don’t know. Like, something patriotic? Maybe—”

“I swear to god Stark, if you say _hot rod red_ , I’m going to eat my shoe.”

Toni throws her hands in the air, defeated. “Why don’t we just let Barnes choose the colour?”

Shuri’s eyes narrow. “He’d agree with me.”

“He hasn’t been able to make a choice for himself in what—like, seventy years? Who knows, maybe he wants a pink arm.”

“A _pink_ arm?”

“Fuck, _I_ don’t know what he’s into! So yeah, _pink_. Bright-ass, _my-little-pony_ pink—”

“I agree with Toni.”

Both mechanics jump at the sudden voice.

“ _Jesus_ , T’Challa. You really are a panther.”

T’Challa laughs, and Toni’s immediately grateful for the sound. He can’t be too angry with her if he’s laughing at her jokes, right? Wasn’t that some secret best-friend code or some shit?

“Leave the decorating for now. Barnes is being woken in thirty-minutes.”

Shuri crosses her arms, her lips pouty like that of an eight-year-old. “But decorating is my favourite part.”

“And you’ll have time for that later. Right now, I need you to get prepped for the Cryostasis reversion.”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Fine, brother. As you wish.”

Shuri gives Toni a ‘look’ as she leaves that Toni doesn’t even know how to begin to decipher.

With the princess gone, the lab is eerily silent, but the vicious words Toni spoke to T’Challa the day before weigh heavy in the air.

Toni’s exponentially thankful when T’Challa speaks first. “It’s beautiful, Toni. Truly.”

T’Challa’s eyes are on the vibranium arm before her. Even Toni has to admit, it really is something. “Hey, I’m just the assistant. Your sister is the real mastermind.”

T’Challa smiles softly. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I crossed a line. But what I said was true. I’ve always and will always want only the best for you.”

“No apology needed. Turns out your little speech was just what I needed to get over myself.”

Toni lifts a mug of coffee to her lips—her third mug already. “So. I suppose we should head to the cryo chambers, huh? Wouldn’t wanna be late.”

“Toni… I think we should talk about this. I know it isn’t easy for you, but you’re doing the right thing—”

“For fucks sake, T’Challa, just cut it with that. The right thing, the wrong thing, good and evil, it’s all bullshit. There are no good guys or bad guys. There’s only bad, and worse. Don’t say I’m doing the ‘right thing’ when the ‘right thing’ makes me physically fucking ill.”

T’Challa lowers his head. His shoulders sag. He says nothing. Nothing, then—“You’re right.”

Toni blinks. “What?” She must have heard him incorrectly.

“You’re right.”

“About what, exactly?”

“About me. I’m trying to help you but truth is I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve only been king for a month, I barely even processed my father’s death, and I…” T’Challa finally looks up, and his eyes are piercing. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is only bad and worse. But I can’t do what I _need_ to do to keep my people safe if I believe we live in a world devoid of good. Because, then, what’s the point?”

That. Right there. That’s what Toni’s been struggling with since she was a teenager. That’s what fuelled the drinking and partying and anything to make herself feel _good_ because nothing else ever could. She’d spent her entire life trying to make the world a better place, and the fear that plagued her, the fear that sent her screaming in the middle of the night, was that the only thing she’d done was make things _worse_.

At the end of all things, there really was no point. Sometimes she felt that she was the only person who understood that, and it killed her. It really, truly killed her.

“I don’t know,” T’Challa breathes. “Maybe there is no point.” Toni nails dig into her palms. She tries to control her breathing, thinking of the technique Pepper taught her when they were still together and she was having nightly anxiety attacks. Three things she can hear: T’Challa tapping his fingers against the table. The constant hum of electricity coursing through the lab. Her heartbeat. _In, and out. In, and out._ “Maybe there is no point,” T’Challa repeats, bringing Toni back to the present. “But I have to believe there is.” He sets his jaw, eyes clear and focused and strong. Stronger than Toni has ever seen him. “I have to.”

 

. . .

 

Toni takes another swig of her coffee as her and T’Challa make their way to the Cryo Chambers.

T’Challa’s eyes land on her coffee—the fourth of the day, though it’s not like she’s counting. “Oh, don’t look at me with those judgy little eyes. I haven’t slept in like—” Toni pauses to check her Stark Phone, “—fifty-eight hours. I’d say I’m allowed a mug of coffee.”

T’Challa raises an eyebrow. “We both know it’s not _just_ coffee in that mug of yours.”

Toni sighs. “I’m here, okay? There’s only so much I can handle when I agree to help the man that murdered my parents.”

T’Challa looks contemplative for a moment—but, hell, he always looks contemplative. It’s practically his only facial expression besides the Bitch-Face and rare half-smile. His face doesn’t reveal much, you have to read his eyes. Everything else he can smooth out with half a thought. Toni only knows because that’s what living in the eyes of the media does to a person. It’s what it did to her.

She shudders inwardly when she catches a hint of worry in T’Challa’s analytical gaze.

“I’m good. Really. No need to worry, Kitty-Cat.”

T’Challa doesn’t look convinced, but he motions her forward anyway.

“I’ll be with you the entire time, Toni.”

“I know.”

He pauses before a set of doors. Toni’s heart stumbles when she see’s Steve and Sam through the doors windows. “You’re not alone,” he says. Then he takes her hand.

Toni didn’t expect his hand to be rough—calloused, like hers. Like Steves. T’Challa wasn’t just a king, he was a warrior.

“Stay with me,” is all Toni says before she pushes the doors open herself.

 

. . .

 

Bucky looks like a corpse.

Steve’s seen a great deal of corpses, during his time in the war, in Sokovia, and before that, his mother and father when he lowered them into the ground. He knows what ‘dead’ looks like, and it’s written all over his pals face. He doesn’t even breathe, which is what freaks Steve out the most. He’s pale, lips and fingertips blue. He is, for all intents and purposes, dead.

Except he isn’t. In a few moments, he’ll be awake and talking and breathing. He’ll be _alive_. Even though right now, he’s frozen in a tube-shaped encasing, like something out of those black and white horror movies he used to drag Steve to.

Technology really has changed since the 40s. Steve knows logically how much _everything’s_ changed, but sometimes the reality of it all still sneaks up on him.

Steve hears the door to the chambers open.

The breath is knocked from his lungs when he sees her. _Toni_. But what is she doing _here_? And why… why is T’Challa holding her hand? He holds it with such a carelessness, too. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Damn. They got close fast, huh?”

Anger, red and hot and unwelcome, prickles along Steve’s spine. “Yeah,” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Well, I’m glad she has someone she can trust. We certainly didn’t do her any favours in that regard.”

Steve’s brows furrow. He lowers his voice. “What are you talking about?”

Sam opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by the king. “Rogers, Wilson. Where are the rest of your friends?”

Steve clears his throat. “We thought it would be better for Buck if everyone wasn’t here when he woke up.” His eyes flicker to Toni. “If it was only people he trusts.”

Toni’s leaning against the back of the wall at the far end of the room. Her eyes burn into his.

“I don’t think you wanna lecture me on trust, Rogers,” she drawls.

“Here we go,” Sam sighs.

Steve gives Sam a hard look, before exposing his palms to Toni. “That’s not what I meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “ _Trust_ me, I don’t want to be here any more than _you_ want me here. But, turns out I know the most about the human brain, next to Banner of course, so,” Toni sighs heavily. “I really don’t have that much of a choice.”

Steve shakes his head, his jaw tight. “You tried to kill him. You might try again, and I can’t—”

Sam grips Steve’s shoulder. “Steve. If she wanted to hurt him she would have. We all know how powerful she is, the tech she has.” Toni’s face has gone pale. Steve ignores the way his stomach pangs. _You did that, you asshole_. “I believe her. She’s here to help.”

Sam offers her a small smile. Toni gives him a small nod. Her small frame is so tense she looks like a chord ready to snap. Within a moment, though, her body loosens, returning to a state of graceful nonchalance. _How does she do that?_ It’s the ease with which Toni can control her appearance that made Steve question whether or not anything she said or did was real when they first met. Sometimes he still wonders.

“Alright, Shuri,” T’Challa’s voice cuts through the tension in the room like a knife. “Wake him up.”

 

. . .

 

Sound comes back to him first.

Voices. Some he recognizes, some he doesn’t. The subtle shifting of feet. The steady beat of his heart.

He doesn’t open his eyes. He’s not sure he wants to. He’s used to waking up in places he doesn’t recognize, surrounded by the bodies of those he doesn’t remember. There are times when Bucky despises the skills instilled in him by HYDRA, but even worse are the times he’s almost grateful for them. Like now, when, throughout all the voices in the room, he can pick Steve’s out with practiced ease, and he knows he’s not alone. He’s safe. There’s Sam (Bucky fights the urge to cringe), the king who gave him a second chance, and… There. A presence in the room makes him pause. Their heart flutters faster than the others, less anxious like Steve, and more… afraid. They don’t speak, but Bucky can hear their sharp intake of breath when his eyes open, immediately searching for his best pal.

But the face he finds isn’t Steve’s.

It’s the one he saw twist in pain when she was forced to watch the tape that still haunts his every step. The one he saw covered in her own blood as he and Steve left her behind in that HYDRA facility. The one concealed behind a mask when she blasted off his metal arm, something that was both a horror and a relief.

It’s the face of his enemy.

Toni Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... thoughts? Bucky's finally back. Toni decided to help him. Steve's still a bit of an ass, but, I mean, it's Steve Rogers. That's not exactly surprising. Leave a comment if you want! I read and respond to all of them because I have no social life. <3


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